


The Hunters and I

by SPNBayBee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action, Eventual (a lot of things), Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sex, Explicit Language, F/M, Mystery, Need help tagging, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert, Scary Dean Winchester, Supernatural Elements, harmless flirtation, more characters later - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5276990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPNBayBee/pseuds/SPNBayBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some secrets are good...some secrets are bad.  You made a mistake, but what?  The Winchesters may be your only chance of survival, that is if they don't kill you first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And so it begins...

**Author's Note:**

> My very first Supernatural fanfic. I don't know where this is heading, only that there will be some sex, sex, sex between Dean and Reader :). There will be a lot of eventual(s), so please be patient and ENJOY!. As usual, I do not own any of the Supernatural characters.

Everything around you was out of focus, but you knew you can’t stop. You felt like you were on drugs, but you don’t remember taking or injecting anything. You weren’t even euphoric, just dizzy. You stumbled, but you got back up, bracing yourself against the wall. You didn’t have any idea what was going on or where you were, only that you needed to get out of harm’s way.

 _‘You don’t belong here.’_ The voice in your head booming, words overlapping. _‘Angels…Winchesters…_

Tears were rolling down your face. What is going on? You knew you were hurt; there was so much blood, but you can’t feel the pain. “Who?! What?!” You yelled back, but there was only silence. The darkness was overwhelming and before you knew it, you stumbled once again, opening the countless cuts on your left palm.

 _‘Get up, y/n.’_ The voice in your head rang again. Anger was starting to boil within you and your vision was getting worse. Rather than let unconsciousness envelop you, you harnessed the rage and pulled yourself off the ground by grabbing onto the wall.

“When I find you, I will kill you.” You groused to the invisible man, scrambling to find some kind of sanctum. You may have found it because before you fainted, you remembered smelling gunpowder and soap.

\---

“Really, Dean? Two whole pies?!” He rolled his eyes with disgust as he opened the car door. They just finished breakfast at some diner and here was Dean with dessert. “You know, that’s going straight to your heart, right?!” The shorter of the two just hmphed and handed the pies to his companion before starting the car. As soon as it came to life, Dean felt safe.

“Good girl,” he whispered as he pulled out of the parking lot. The black ’67 Chevy Impala roared in response. To some, a car is just for transportation. To Dean, it was more than that. This was something his dad left him when he was a teenager and he took care of her, which he named Baby, ever since.

“What can I say? I love pies, Sammy. Price for saving the world.” The one named Sammy just shook his head with disbelief, accompanied by a smile. He did agree with Dean, though. They have saved humanity so many times over.

“So,” he looked at the pie and saw a name on the top with a phone number. “…Ilana felt compelled to ‘ _pay_ ’ you.” Drawing quotation marks in the air.

Dean shrugged and smirked. This was not an uncommon occurrence. Everywhere they go, he was always surrounded by women ready to do anything until the break of dawn. “Can’t fault me if they find this irresistible.”

Rather than stroke his ego any further, the man with the shoulder-length hair rested his head on the window and let sleep take over him. It had been long and exhausting weekend and all he wanted was his bed and pillow.

“…you gotta respond to these women, Sam.” Dean continued on, walking down memory lane and some of these ‘occurrences’ were oh so juicy. “Sam, are you listening?” When his passenger didn’t respond, he took a quick glance. “Bastard.” He, too, was drained and all he could think of were his pies and beer…and maybe a prank. “One more hour…” he exasperated, cranking his tunes to AC/DC’s Highway to Hell.

\---

You drew in a sharp breath, prompting you to open your eyes. You didn’t have any recollection on how you got there, but there you were. Slowly getting up, which was actually painful, you looked around. Nothing there; only darkness and the smell of stale air. Suddenly, flickering candles surrounded you, which kicked in your fight or flight response. To make matters worse, video clips started playing everywhere and the main star was you. All the voices were overlapping that it began to drive you crazy.

“Wh-what’s going on?!” You asked with fear in your voice, twirling taking in everything you can. “Make it stop, please!” Rather than wait for a response, you decided to run. But no matter how far you ran, there were no exits in sight.

“Hello?! Can you hear me?! I know you can see me. Answer me!!!” Still, nothing. ‘ _This isn’t the time to breakdown,_ Y/N.’ You harshly scolded yourself. You didn’t have the faintest clue as to how you could’ve let this happen.

Before you can delve any deeper, you heard a familiar voice, screaming, _“Wake up!”_ Next thing you knew, there was a gun staring back at you.


	2. The Bunker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Definitely not your bed...so whose?

“Home, sweet home!” Dean announced, opening the door with full force. It had only been two days, but it felt like eternity. This was heaven to him compared to the skeevy motel rooms and sharing a room with his brother. This was their Batcave, like Batman’s, where they can do research, store their various weapons, and do unspeakable things. Tonight, however, they were taking it easy. At least, he was. They may have acquired the bunker not too long ago, but there was a sense of familiarity. After all, it was built by the Men of Letters to which their grandfather, Henry Winchester, belonged.

“Sam!” he yelled as he was halfway down the steps. Even though it was mainly the two of them, with invited guests popping here and there, the place was immaculate. “Would you like a beer?!” He shook his head knowing how ludicrous his question was. “Of course, you’d like a beer. Sammy, don’t forget the pies. I might have to call…” he paused, trying to remember the name on the one of the pies. He had met so many of them, it was difficult to keep track. And he was more interested in the pies anyway. “It doesn’t matter. Just don’t forget the pies.”

He was almost at the war room when he just realized how hungry he was. He knew he had pies, courtesy of some waitress, but he wanted some meat to go with his beer because to him, “that’s what men eat”. Since he was also exhausted from driving all night, he growled as he trudged back up the steps towards the second floor, where the kitchen was located. And because of his exhaustion, he missed the bloodstains on the wall until he noticed a bloodied clothing on the floor.

At first, he thought it was Sam’s, but he knew his brother was like a moose with OCD tendencies. “What the hell?” he stated, picking up the item gingerly. It was clearly female’s, a bra.

“Charlie?!” He hollered, shaking his head with a gentleman’s smile on his face. He had known Charlie for quite some time and this was a first, which was very unusual. That and the lacy bra. No way in hell would she be caught wearing one, let alone leave it out in plain sight. Instinctively, Dean grabbed his gun from his back and silently walked towards the kitchen, with his gun pointed forward. As he got closer, he spotted a bloody palm print, leading up to the third floor. Before following the trail of blood, he decided to check the living room, kitchen, and dining room to be thorough; all clear.

“Son of a bitch!” he muttered, under his breath. He was about to yell for Sam, but if the intruder was still in the bunker, it would give him or Sam away, if he hadn’t already. Then, he remembered his phone. “Son of a bitch!” he muttered once more when he realized he left it in the car.

“All right,” he angrily stated. And with no other choice, he trekked up the steps guardedly. Many unanswered questions swam through his head. Who was upstairs? How could this have happened? He knew he and Sam were good at ensuring that the security system was on and functioning. Could it be Charlie? If not, who?

More bloody prints on the wall as well as blood-soaked clothes on the stairs. Before blindingly walking up the stairs and hallway, Dean ducked and took a quick look. Clear. He exhaled a little and quickly thought of a strategy, crawling towards the wall on the left. Suddenly, he remembered there was someone else he can call.

“Breaker, Breaker 9. Breaker, Breaker 1 9. This is Dean. Castiel, can you hear me? Over.” He knew he sounded stupid, but he had no other choice. If it was Charlie, he definitely would need him. “Castiel?!” He whispered sharply, but to his disappointment, no Castiel appeared.

Rather than wait on two people who probably won’t show up until they needed something, ‘ _Fucking bastards,’_ he thought, Dean rose from the floor and took another quick look to assess the situation and from where he was, he saw a clear shot of his room.

 _‘That can’t be right,’_ he mused because he distinctly remembered closing the door to his room and it made his blood boil that someone was in there, desecrating his room, Charlie or not. “Oh, hell no.” Before he could give it anymore thought, he rushed towards his room.

\---

“Dean, what the hell?! You could at least help me unload the car!” The moose with OCD tendencies shouted as he came bursting through the door a few minutes later. “Dean!” He called out once more, with agitation.

“Come on, man. These bags aren’t like feathers. What do you got in here, anyway?” He dropped the bags to make a point, which created a very loud thump.

“You can kiss your pies goodbye, and even Ilana.” He was hoping that would elicit a response, but he was met with silence. “I guess not.” Before he could call out his brother’s name, he caught something in his peripheral view, bloodstains. And just like Dean, his instincts kicked in. As soon as he opted to move, he heard a loud piercing scream, forcing him to run up the steps.


	3. Reality

Staring at a gun was not how you wanted to be woken up. Someone screaming bloody murder in your dream was not any better, either. But both happened. _That can’t be right,_ you thought as you sat up, gasping for air. To make sure you weren't dreaming up the gun, you rubbed your eyes a couple of times, even blinked a few times as an extra measure. When you thought your eyes were well-adjusted enough, you gave it another look. _Huh. Okay…So it’s real._ But that didn't register in your brain. If anything, you were curious as to who was behind the weapon. _Hey, idiot! Don’t gape! Run!_ Your body warned, which you still ignored. Staring past the barrel, you slowly moved your gaze up the shooter's arms until your eyes met his: angry, ready to kill on the spot. Only then were you aware of the situation; you screamed.

You wanted to get away, but you knew you wouldn’t get far: one, there’s a gun pointed at you; and two, you knew that there was no playing around with him. “Please, don’t hurt me,” you begged with tears rolling down your face. “Please...I'm harmless.”

Even though you had tears in your eyes, you thought you saw pity in his, but maybe you were mistaken. There was no way he felt such an emotion. _'Such beautiful green eyes,'_ you admired. _Why so much hatred and sadness?_ Just then, you realized he was talking to you. “What are you doing here?” He repeated with a growl, not taking his eyes nor his gun off of you. “Who the hell are you? Who sent you here?!”

You froze in place. You had no idea. “I---I don’t know…” you stammered. _How could I not? Where’s here? Who are you?_ You tried to draw up any recollection, but the harder you concentrated, the sharper the pain in your head became.

You looked around you to re-orient yourself, but here was some place you’ve never been. Guns on the right wall, cabinet on the opposite side, and knives right behind you or so you assumed because it was just a quick glance. But it didn’t matter since what you saw were enough to raise your scare-o’-meter. To make matters worse, someone who could wield all these weapons was standing right in front of you. Subconsciously, you moved your hand to your neck when you felt the sheets rub against your breasts. _That’s weird._ That was when it dawned on you that you weren’t wearing anything. Nothing was definitely coming between you and the sheet in the words of Brooke Shields.

“Where are my clothes?!!!” You demanded, forgetting for a minute the danger you were in. You became hysterical. “Did you rape me?! What did you do to me?!!! Oh my God!” You checked what you could underneath the blanket and saw gashes and bruises. Your thighs were hurting and you drew a conclusion, albeit wrong, that you were sexually assaulted.

He gave you a befuddled look. “Princess, I did not touch you! No way, no how! Now, shut your trap and answer me or so help me...!” And that did the trick. You sobbed quietly, clutching on to the only thing that was protecting your dignity. But then you realized, actually knew, that you were not the type of woman to be told what to do, not by a Neanderthal like him. One brownie point for you, zero for the dickhead in the room.

“I don’t know. How many times do you want me to say it?! I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!!!” You fought back. Crying was getting too tiring and you weren’t about to let him intimidate you any longer. Without any warning, he dragged you off the bed, knocking the wind out of you. It happened so quickly. You tried to fend yourself, but he was too strong.

“Give me your hands!” he barked as he straddled you, trying to grab your arms. Next thing you knew, your wrists were being bound like an animal. You weren't even sure where he got the rope, but that was least of your worries. _Oh my God._ You were just too stunned to think of anything else.

“Let go!!!” You sobbed, trying to free your wrists, your body, but it wasn’t happening. This one hundred and seventy-five-pound of a man was on you like white on rice. The more you moved, the harder it was to breathe and the more painful it was. You could feel blood dripping out of your wounds. And the more you moved, the more you were getting exposed, but that wasn't all that important because at the moment, shit was about to get real.

“Please… _”_ You begged, yet there was no stopping him. He hoisted you by the waist like a sack of potatoes and sat you on the chair by the phone. To make sure you weren’t going anywhere, he taped your legs together. At least, he was nice enough to make sure your body was covered. Thank you for the little things. “I really don’t know.” _Keep on talking._

_“_ If you want, I can come back and get all the necessary information for you.” _Smart. Piss him off even more. That’ll help your case._ But you couldn't help it.

“Please…” you pleaded again, which fell on deaf ears. You were about to say something else, when he reared his head towards you with such a look on his face that made you mute. You had no other choice. _Oh, God, anybody. Help, please._ While his back was to you, you tried to free your wrists, but the son of a bitch did a pretty good job. _He must do this for a living._

“With the line of work I do, I’m good at figuring people out. It’s what I do.” He started as he approached the wall against the bed. You were about to die and all you could do was watch him choose the knife he was going to use on you. You whimpered, unable to control your body from shaking.

“And I know that you’re a nice girl.” He paused for effect, checking the knives displayed on the wall. “Ah, this should do,” he stated, grabbing a dagger off the shelf instead. He also made sure you saw it, moving it as it glinted against the light. _What are you waiting on, stupid?! Nobody’s going to save you from that lunatic. So get your ass off the chair and start crawling,_ which you did. Not a smart move, but you weren’t going to wait for him to kill you. Your body was in pain, but damn it to hell if you were going to let him carve you like a thanksgiving turkey.

_God, please. Stop him! Smite him! Anything. Anybody, help me._ The tears were running uncontrollably like a faucet. You could feel and hear your heart racing and your blood pumping. You can hear his footsteps, but you didn’t dare stop. You were going to go down swinging, well, crawling was more of the case. He was coming closer and closer.

“But I gotta do what I gotta do. Aw, where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?”

You were so close to the door, but cruel fate caught up. “No, no! Let me go!!!” You screamed. Unladylike or not, you didn’t care. He pulled you by the arm hard and threw you against the chair, your head hitting the wall, causing you to see stars.

_Goodbye, world._


	4. Fuzzy Tall Dude and Dickhead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I just would like to thank those who took the time to read my work. Felt very exciting. Anyway, please feel free to leave comments or just kudos. Again, thank you.

“Dean!” You heard someone shout with alarm in his voice. _Ah, so dickhead’s name is Dean._ You tried to see who it was, but thanks to Dean for banging your head and not even in a good way, you were too dizzy and very much in pain. Whoever it was, you were grateful, but you still erred on the side of caution. You grabbed the sheet even closer to you and made sure that what needed covered was still covered.

“Are you okay?!” The fuzzy image asked, which you knew for a fact was not directed to you. He sure was tall, though. “I saw blood on the hallway…” he stopped. _Uh-oh. This can’t be good._ Pain or no pain, the situation was getting worse by the minute.

“Uh, Dean. What’s going on?” He asked, and even though you couldn’t see him, you felt him staring at you. _Devil’s three-way, anyone?_ You amused yourself, slightly forgetting your pain, the nut job/s in the room, and the fact that the silver dagger was still pressed against your face.

Dean exhaled loudly, pulling himself off the ground, withdrawing the blade away from your face. “Thanks, **Dean** ,” you gnarled with attitude, but relieved deep down. Whether that pissed him off even more, you didn’t care. It seemed like you just bought yourself another day.

“Why don’t you ask princess over there. Too much attitude for my taste.” He snarled, staring at you with anger. You really didn’t know if he was, but if you were him, you would be staring at you, too.

“Oh yeah, Mr. Big Shot! Maybe you should shut your pie hole and let fuzzy tall dude do the talking. You dumb---“ you didn’t know what else to say other than “---Batman impersonator. Maybe you should get a lozenge or something. And you can’t handle all of this.” _What the hell was that? Really?_ _Batman impersonator?_ Even you thought that was lame, but you were being ballsy and man, it felt great. More brownie points for you.

 _Okay, maybe I should calm myself down before I end up puking my guts out._ Dean was about to counter, when the fuzzy tall dude interrupted him. Suddenly, you felt his hands on you, but the way he touched you was different. His touch was gentle and sympathetic. All that anger disappeared. Next thing you knew, both your wrists and legs were free. Hallelujah!

Of course, Dean was not happy about it. “What the hell, Sam?! She could be some demonic bitch!” Sam might have given him some kind of look because Dean retracted, “What? She could be.”

“Um, hi. Fuzzy tall dude here.” He began cautiously getting as close as he can get to your lolling head. You could feel him next to you, but your vision was still muddled. So you decided that until your vision came back that he was going to resemble Orlando Bloom’s Legolas, which made you accidentally bite your lower lip. If fuzzy tall dude saw it, he didn’t mention it. “My name is Sam Winchester and the jerk as you already know is my older brother, Dean. And you are?”

“Hi, fuzzy tall dude,” you greeted with a somewhat crazy-stupid smile on your face. “I mean, Sam. I wish I could make out with you---” _What? That’s not what I’m trying to say._ Freudian slip if you've ever heard one. Your face turned bright red that all you wanted to do was crawl in a cave and never come out. You cleared your throat and tried again. This time, slowly. “I mean, I wish I could make you out,” you enunciated, “but thanks to your dickhead of a brother over there…” you pointed out, assuming it was Dean, but it turned out to be a lamp. “Again, thanks, **Dean.** " And to Sam, "I think I may have ended up with a concussion”

“By the way, princess, I’m over here. Yoo-hoo.” You heard Dean say to you on your right. He might have even waved his hand to get your attention, but you’ll never know.

“Up yours, Winchester!” You were about to get up when pain shot up your body like stepping on a bed of needles, causing your body to go limp. Fortunately enough, Sam caught you before you fell flat on your face.

“How about we get you in bed?” Sam said and before you could protest, he lifted you up like you were weightless. You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, but you didn’t have worry because Sam read your mind. “Right around my neck is fine.” Well, another brownie point for Sam, #fuzzy tall dude, #Legolas. You even rested your head on his broad shoulder, which actually helped ease the pain in your head and neck.

“My name is (Y/)-Angelina Murphy.” It came out muffled, but even you heard it. _Huh. That’s not right. It’s Y/N._ You tried again. “My name is (Y/)-Angelina Murphy.” It was simple, like breathing and eating. But for some ungodly reason, you blurted out someone else’s name, and the scary part was it rolled out of your tongue naturally.

It didn’t sound like Sam noticed; if he did, he didn’t comment on it. You held onto him tighter and when you did, you felt his artery pulsating under your skin. You even caught a whiff of soap and gunpowder, which automatically soothed you a bit and Sam was aware of it, too. For a minute, which felt like forever, you forgot Dean was even in the room until he cleared his throat.

“Okay, okay. Quit screwin’ around. This isn’t ‘The Bodyguard.’ Now, start talking, princess.” But you didn’t; your focus was still on Sam. And Sam ignored his brother, just as well. As soon as he sat you down on the bed, he performed a few tests to make sure that they, well, he, didn’t have to rush you to the ER. You knew there was no need, but it was just too hard to say No to him.

“Follow my finger, okay?” Sam brought his right hand to the middle of your face, and glided it from left to right. As you watched his hand, you giggled, really giggled, like a school girl.

“What?” He asked. There was a hint of gruffness in his voice, but it didn’t terrify you. If anything, it mollified you. Erring on the side of caution…right.

“Hmm…” Your voice came out like molasses, sultry for some reason. _Am I flirting?_

“You’re giggling.” He stated. Just then, you felt the bed shift. And before you could investigate what was going on, he beamed a light to your eyes, his face a little too close for comfort. You weren’t sure which startled you, but either way, you pulled away abruptly that you hit your head against the board, same spot you hit earlier. _Thud!_ At least, it wasn’t as hard and it didn’t affect your already blurred vision.

“I’m sorry,” Sam apologized. “Let me see…” You felt the bed shift once again and this time, his muscular hands were on your head, inspecting what could be a grapefruit-sized bump the next morning. But before he could say anything, Dean yanked him.

“I’m done watching this after school special shit. Just take two aspirins and call the doctor in the morning. Coz to be honest, princess, I don’t give a crap.” You clutched the blanket closer to your body and tried to face Dean with frustration, blurred vision or not. Even though you couldn’t see him clearly, you sensed that Dean was equally frustrated as you were. You didn’t want to be the one taking the high road, but someone had to give in and it surely wasn’t dickhead. _Oh, to be considerate._

“Can you please put the gun away?” You asked softly and nicely. You didn’t know when he pulled it back out, but the gun was back. “I’m not a dangerous person. I mean, look at me?!” You paused and realized that you were naked underneath the blanket. “Scratch that. The point is I don’t think I can overpower you both, considering the state I’m in.”

You turned to both brothers. Dean finally folded, but with reservations as he put his gun away. “Let’s get something straight here, sweetheart.” He started, getting on the bed. It would have been sexual except for the fact that he was a scary son of a bitch. You weren’t sure what to expect so you sat still, holding down his stare.

Without any warning, he grabbed your chin and brought you close to his face, so close that you can smell him, a tinge of cologne and musk on his skin. For some unknown reason, you wanted to lick his face and taste him. Unsanitary, but that would have satisfied you. “You know, I'm sick of this attitude. Just keep in mind, I’m in charge here, got it?!”

“I’ll have it no other way,” you challenged, bringing your face closer, showing that you weren’t scared of him. Either that, or you’re just an idiot with a death wish.

 


	5. The Room and the Angel of the Lord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, folks. I am sorry it took me this long to post this chapter. :-) As you can see, I had fun writing it. This chapter looks longer than the ones I have posted prior.
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments and kudos. HAPPY HOLIDAYS and have a HAPPY and PROSPEROUS NEW YEAR.

Your body hurt all over, and it wasn’t even because of anything exciting. Thanks to Dean, you were dragged, straddled, tied, and almost knocked out, and still not because of sex. If it weren’t for Sam, it could’ve been worse, which made you shiver just thinking about it. Thank you, Sam. _Siri, remind me to make something for or ‘do’ Sam when I get out of this in one piece._ You knew it was another lame but sexy joke. Though with your situation, you needed a laugh.

While the brothers were huddled in a corner not invading your personal space, hallelujah!, you breathed a sigh of relief even though it will be short-lived. Rather than dwell on it, you scanned the room and you realized it wasn’t all that big, but surprisingly clean. Across the bed was the bedroom door and on the right, was a sink, which you thought was out of place, but hey! To each his own. The wall on your right were various firearms: shotguns, pistols, rifles. _Now, how could you have known which is which. Don’t tell me you have fired one of them._ You were just as flabbergasted. What was even truly astonishing, may be even scary was that you knew how to fire them. An evil thought came to mind, but before you could cultivate your idea, your inner self came crashing in with just two words in caps: _BAD IDEA_. You rolled your eyes in frustration. It truly was a bad idea, most especially with your current state. Not only that, but now you have two guys to worry about instead of one. If it were for something else like dirty and nasty, oh boy!, it would be legendary, in the words of Barney Stinson.

You puffed in anger. _Not fair. I could do it, you know?_ Rather than continue on with your inner turmoil, you once again turned to the wall on the right. Now that you regained a little bit of your memory on how to operate the weapons crudely tacked on the wall that made you feel a little bit better. Looking back at the weapons to the right, you were itching to test drive one of the shotguns with a sawed-off double barrel. Since the boys weren’t paying attention to you, which now sucked in your opinion, you decided that this would be the time to rain hell on the Winchesters. Dying or not, you made a decision.

But before you could stay true to your words, a photo, about the size of an index card perched on the bottom of a lamp, caught your attention. There was something about it, the feel of sentimentality…you were just drawn to it. It seemed old, but well taken care of. As if the owner of the picture took great lengths to keep the picture alive, if that made sense. You couldn’t really see who were in the picture, only that there were two people in it. You have no idea why, but you took a quick glance at the Winchesters, still busy blah-blah-blah-ing away. Somehow your eyes lingered on Dean.

The shorter of the two, who was actually six feet one, was not bad looking at all. Your eyesight may not be at one hundred and ten percent, but you saw enough to make your body hot. His brown short textured hair, you wish to run your hands through, maybe pull while performing extra-curricular activities; his green eyes you can stare forever on end, his muscular body you can grab, maybe claw while doing some unspeakable things… _Simmer down, cowgirl. What has gotten into you?! Have you forgotten that you were almost killed not too long ago?! Now, you wanna do the nasty with him, of all people?! If Sam hadn’t come along, you wouldn’t even be here right now daydreaming about his---his hair!_

You, too, were surprised. You had been around men who were just as or more handsome and ‘doable’ as the Winchesters, but this was truly a first. Your sexual desires for Dean was just as terrifying as the man in front of you. But even then, your body was screaming, longing to feel his skin, his lips, and the ‘ **what** ’ that makes him a man. The pain was getting unbearable. Your body wanted release, but you couldn’t. At least not with them in the room and from the looks of it, Dean was not ready to call it a night. The only two things that were stopping you from ripping his clothes and performing ungodly acts were your own version of Jiminy Cricket and the fear of the unknowns, naming Dean, especially.

“Hey!” barked Dean, snapping his fingers, which brought you back to reality. Without realizing it, he was watching you the whole time: half-guarded and half-curious. Speak of the devil…You rolled your eyes, leaned back against the headboard, and crossed your arms. You were too exhausted to argue, but not too exhausted to piss him off.

“Dickhead, you’re boring me. It’s been…oh, I don’t know…” you looked at your imaginary watch. “Hours now since we started this dance, and all I could remember is my name, Angelina fucking Murphy!” You raised your voice, decibel by decibel. It felt good that you were still in control of some of your emotions, mainly anger. “So if you have any bright ideas, I’m all ears…though I see you’re all brawns compared to Sam.”

And that made him froth at the mouth. The only thing that was keeping him from ripping your head off was Sam and even he was having a difficult time holding him back. “You know what, bitch…“ While Sam’s back was to you, you stuck your tongue out at Dean and had a smug look on your face. _You really are an idiot with a death wish._ It took all of Sam’s strength to stop him from getting to you.

“Why don’t we just pick this up tomorrow?” Sam stated rather than asked, directing it more at his brother. “Obviously, we’re not getting anywhere and we’re all exhausted. Dean?” The way Sam said his name hinted that he meant business.

But Dean wasn’t backing down and just like Sam, he meant business. “Get out of my way, **Sammy**.” He emphasized, pushing Sam out of his way, but Sam held his ground. You clearly saw that the leather-wearing hottie was livid; his canines were showing. “Don’t make me repeat myself. We have always tried to do the right thing, and almost always we get our asses bit, people we care about, people we love get taken away from us. Not tonight.” His voice was laced with so much pain and anger, but most of the anger wasn’t towards you. Yes, pissing him off made you feel a helluva lot better, but you weren’t that much of a bitch like Dean believed.

As you let the brothers Winchester hash it out, your eyes lingered to his younger brother and the look on your face was more sexual than anything. _Oh-my-God! Really?! Now Sam?!_ _Keep it in your pants._ His broad shoulders, large back, wavy brown hair, nice ass…you shuddered at the thought, but you couldn’t help it. If seeing his back has made your body react, how much more when he faced you? That will have to wait until your sight completely recovers. _Huh. There is something wrong._ You knew that the mood hit you bad once in a while, but this was really different. Before you could self-analyze yourself any further, the fight between the boys brought you back to the poorly lit room.

“So what are you saying? That we should torture her? Look at her, Dean! She has been through hell.” Sam clamored. _Torture?! Kill?! What do these brothers do for a living?!_ There was terror in your face. _Say something, idiot! And he didn’t say kill._ But what to do?!

“Not when I’m done with her.” Dean stated with malice. _Forget about saying something, just get the hell out of there._ But you were too scared to move. _So what happened to the bitch that couldn’t keep her mouth shut earlier? Oh, right._

“Well, how about Castiel? Have you tried contacting him?” Sam asked, almost with desperation in his voice. He didn’t know you from Adam, but he was willing to put himself through the wringer for you. _Castiel?_ The name sounded familiar to you, but you can’t put a finger on where you heard his name. And then it hit you like a ton of bricks.

\---

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The voice startled you and it took you a few minutes to understand what he was saying. And when you did, your body went to overdrive. “What do you mean?! Where am I?!” You panicked. Anything that happened before this man appeared by your side, you couldn’t remember, only that you were unconscious. From what or who, you had no idea. You tried to get a sense of the situation, literally, but you couldn’t; you were blindfolded. The only senses you could use were your hearing and smell. And all you smelled were blood, stale air and the scent of a very moist and molded dungeon, if there is ever such a smell.

“What’s going on?!” Your heart was racing, you were sweating bullets, and you were scared. What freaked you out the most was the smell of blood, but you didn’t feel any pain. You wanted to think it wasn’t yours, but you knew it was. Even though pain was absent, you most definitely felt weak. Not only did you lose your sight temporarily; you also lost your power to defend yourself, not that you can defeat yourself at the moment. You were dangling like a piñata, waiting to be bust open for all your sweetness goodies. But instead of candies and chocolates, it was going to be your guts.

_Okay, you need to calm down. Take a deep breath_ , you chided yourself. At first, it worked, but fear crept like fiery ants and you began whimpering and thrashing. _To hell with weakness._ The shackles were causing more damage to your wrists, but you didn’t care. All of a sudden, all your fear just disappeared from a single touch you assumed was from this person.

“What did you just do? Who are you?” You asked as if talking to a friend. His presence was something familiar, like he was someone you have known all your life. “Why are you here?”

“I am Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord.” _Angel? They exist?!_ You have heard of them, but to learn that they actually exist and were in the same plane as you was a different story. You wanted to ask a million and one questions, but decided against it; this wasn’t the time. Seconds later, you were free from what bound you. As soon as the shackles fell, your whole body was in absolute pain and weak that you dropped like a sack of potatoes.

“I need to get you out of here.” He grabbed you by the arm and tried to help you. As you wrapped your arm around his shoulder, there was something wrong. You sensed that the angel was also in bad shape. There might never be a “right time” to ask him your numerous questions after all.

You shook your head. You tried to remove the blindfold, but he stopped you. “Leave it on.”

“But I can’t see.” Beat. “Castiel?” You knew he was still there, but you also knew that he was having a difficult time. You smelled blood.

“Stay with the Winchesters. They’ll know what to do.”

_Know what to do?! Dean’s about to kill me. My only salvation right now is Sam._ “Castiel,” you called out again. “What are you---“

“Your destiny can’t be changed. I’m sorry, Karrin.” _Karrin? As in my mom?! What does she have anything to do with what’s happening?_ But before you can ask more questions, you were back in the bunker. And the next thing you knew, everything that you thought was real and unreal was turned upside down.

 


End file.
